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When Jonathan transfers from the U.S to the Manchester branch
of Computers Inc., Jenny is the first person to make him feel at home. Finding
out about his bleak Christmases as a boy, she makes up her mind to involve him
in all her English Christmas traditions.
Passion sparks between the two as they decorate the Christmas tree. Who would have thought such an innocent activity could become so sexually charged? Can Jenny succeed in seducing the hot American and also prove to him that Santa really does exist?
* Includes the Full Seasonal Recipes for meals & snacks mentioned in the story.
Passion sparks between the two as they decorate the Christmas tree. Who would have thought such an innocent activity could become so sexually charged? Can Jenny succeed in seducing the hot American and also prove to him that Santa really does exist?
* Includes the Full Seasonal Recipes for meals & snacks mentioned in the story.
Author - Victoria Bliss
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Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife,
Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also
the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, Smut by the Sea and Smut in
the City.
She is
equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories,
poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester,
England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her
stories.Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy
life.
Find out
more at http://victoriablisse.co.uk or follow
and friend Victoria: http://twitter.com/victoriablisse http://facebook.com/victoriablisse
Excerpt
"Don't
you just love the pine smell?" I inhale deeply as I rub my fingers over a
prickly frond.
"Yeah,
it's kinda spicy, isn't it?" He passes the boxes of decorations over and I
open them up.
“So,
there’s a particular way I do this.” I point as I recite the list.
“Baubles
first, big at the bottom, small at the top. Then we put on the lights and then
finally the tinsel.”
“Okay,
boss.” He stamps his foot and gives a salute.
“Ha,
less cheek, more work.” I giggle. “You just can’t get the staff these days.”
I
settle at the foot of the tree and begin placing the bigger baubles around the
lower branches.
Jonathan
stands beside me, hanging baubles from the top of the six foot spruce. I adore
dressing my Christmas tree. All my decorations have stories behind them: some
belonged to my mother, others to my Nanna, and a few I’ve purchased
myself. I retell the tales as I pull
them out.
“Oh,
I made this one.” I pick up the felt stocking and smile. “I was about eight, I
think. It took me ages to sew all the sequins on. There used to be more. Many
have fallen off now.”
The
red felt is faded and worn, the white edging closer to grey, and the sequins
that are left no longer sparkle.
“My
mum loved it. She always said it was her favourite.”
“I
can see why.” His tone is soft and tender. “You put a lot of love into it.”
I
nod and hang it on the tree.
“And
this one I bought last year. It’s an owl. I’ve got a thing for owls.”
“Kinky,”
Jonathan quips and I slap his calf.
“Behave.”
“Never.”
He grins. “Anyway, you started it.”
“No,
no. Your dirty mind started it. I meant I like owls and this one has a Santa
hat on. How could I resist him?”
I
look up and I see mischief in the set of his mouth. I slap him again.
“Ow!
I didn’t say a thing,” he protests.
“No,
but you were going too.”
He
doesn’t deny it and we carry on loading the branches in companionable silence.
"Ooh,
Jonathan, can you check those lights for me now?" I glance up, and find
his crotch just above my eye height. I drop my eyelashes and quickly bend my
head down. I try to not wonder about the bulge I'm sure I just saw there.
"Sure."
He steps around me, his legs rubbing against my back. "So, er, do I just
plug these in then?" Obviously, Jonathan is a Christmas tree light novice.
"Yeah,
and if they light up, that's your job done. If they don't, you need to check
all the bulbs and find the one—or ones—that don't work and replace them with
those spares in that packet." I point as I speak. He follows the direction
of my finger.
"Ahh,
I see." He nods and sets to work while I move my way farther up the tree.
"Oh,
now then, I need to find a good place for Fairy Mary." I hold up a small,
old, porcelain fairy, her red dress flared, the sequins lost, only the little
blobs of glue to show where they once were. Her blonde hair is more fuzzy than
curly, and her gold glittering halo shows mostly silver now.
"Fairy
Mary?" Jonathan flicks the switch to red, and the lights come on, fizzle
with a sad "plink," then fade to black.
"There's
a bulb loose somewhere. You'll have to fiddle with them then screw it in."
He raises a long narrow brow, and I realise how suggestive that just sounded.
"And, yes, Fairy Mary," I quickly continue, avoiding eye contact.
"She's been passed down from my Nanna's Mum—who might even have gotten it
from her mother, though we're not sure. She always has the most comfortable
branch to sit on. She's an old lady now, you see."
He
nods and continues to turn the lights in his fingers. "So, do you have a
lot of Christmas traditions?"
"Oh,
a fair few: the decorations, baking my own Christmas cake from scratch,
watching The Muppet Christmas Carol
on Christmas Eve. After that, I go up to Tom Jenkins's farm and look at the
tree and Nativity scene before going to church for midnight mass. That's before
we even get to Christmas Day!"
"Do
you have many people here on Christmas Day?"
I nod. "Yeah, a few. There's my sister
Marie, and her husband Mike, and their two teenaged girls. Aunty May comes over
with her friend Queenie, and then there’ll be Uncle Charlie and his wife, their
son, his wife and the newborn boy—what's his name—oh yes, Jake."
"They'll
all fit in here?" He has very expressive eyebrows; with the tiniest
movement, he conveys great scepticism.
"Well,
not all at once. Charlie and his lot come over at teatime. He had a falling out
with his sister some years ago, and I've just found it easier to have them
round separately." Just then, Jonathan tries the bulbs once more and the
trailing vine lights up. Reds, greens, blues, and pink grapes shine with gaudy
Christmas symbolism. I squeal in delight and clap my hands. "Just in time,
too! I've just finished the decorations."
The
lights are easily trailed through the forest of baubles, Santa's, fairies, and
hanging toys. "Right, just the tinsel now. You start at the top, and I'll
go from the bottom, and we'll meet in the middle."
Tinsel
trails through my fingertips as I twirl around the tree, stooping low, then
bending at the waist, then almost standing straight with just my shoulders
stooped. As I raise my head to see how Jonathan is doing, I crack against
something hard.
"Oh,
I am sorry." I reach out automatically and rub my hand against Jonathan's
bumped chin, cupping his cheek in the palm of my hand, like a parent comforting
an injured baby. However, the slight prickle of his end-of-the-day stubble
reminds me in a powerful way that this is a grown man I'm handling so
intimately.
Then,
there are lips: softly demanding lips pressing gently against my own. They have
to be Jonathan’s as he’s the only other person in the room. They form a kiss.
They don't apologise or ask permission; they take possession of my mouth.
Brooking no argument, confidently they mesh with mine, moving sensually as his
hands come round me, sheltering me, cradling me close.
I
want the kiss to deepen, urge Jonathan forward by stroking his cheek. I’ve
forgotten everything else but him and me joining so intimately. His touch has
made me a mass of tingling anticipation. His kiss makes electricity flow
through my veins. I feel like an extension of the fairy lights. I must be
lighting up, I’m so turned on.
But
no sooner has the kiss been created than it is torn apart. We are red-cheeked,
unable to meet each other's eyes.
"I'll,
erm, turn off the lights then so we can see the, er, lights." Sentences
just aren’t forming. My lips are still in kissing mode and my mind is in
turmoil. Why did he pull away from me? I scurry over to the switch and flip it.
"Ooh." I gasp as the glaring main light dims and the Christmas tree
comes into its own, bathing my room in festive cheer. "It looks just about
perfect." I walk back to the tree and tweak the tinsel here and there, so
the lights come through a bit clearer. Jonathan says nothing, just stares into
the softly glowing tackiness.
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